


To Leave Something Behind

by SambliongPalpatine



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Coming to terms with past mistakes, Depression, Learning to Be Happy, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, learning to love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22920022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SambliongPalpatine/pseuds/SambliongPalpatine
Summary: Glorfindel is misserable; he’a filled with self-loathing, guilt and other issues. Thankfully, he has friends who care abouf him.And then there is Aragorn.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Glorfindel
Kudos: 6





	To Leave Something Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello sunshines! So I’ve always wanted to write a Glorfindel/Aragorn fic but never had an idea. Until now. 
> 
> A friend of mine was talking to me about a Modern AU where Glorfindel was messed up for a failure he had and then in comes Aragorn to help him. Wooh, can’t believe I wrote something with so many tags...
> 
> So this was born. I’ll continue it if you want me to. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy and toss your blind writer a comment.

Today is one of those days when it is near impossible for Glorfindel to get out of bed. 

It isn’t because of his physical pain, no. It is because of the emotional one. 

It is one of those days when not even him wants to be inside his own head. Because in days like this he is assaulted by the memories of the war and death and he just wishes he could overdo his medicaments. Even if that’s never worked before. 

But alas, go to work he must. 

So he drags his sorry ass to the bathroom to at least wash his face and brush his teeth before going to pick his trousers from the floor and grab one of his clean shirts and pick one of his ties that best suits the shirt. 

Who gives a damn about matching ties anyway? 

Elrond’s shipping company was planning a merge with another smaller one and they have been working almost double-time to make it work so today despite it all, he makes the effort of looking presentable. 

They are all over-caffeinated, over-worked and without much sleep (which doesn’t help with the tensions) and Glorfindel has almost come into blows with a seldom employees. Thankfully the doze of pills he takes will help him not to explode. 

Because of it he forgoes the coffee, inspite of him dying for a cup. 

His doctor has told him many a time that he should lower his coffee consumption. Rather stop it at all. But as cliché as this is, he wouldn’t be able to function without the Valar-blessed beverage. Cafein doesn’t go well with his medication and he wants to avoid the anxiety attack. 

The blond prepares his lunch consisting of a vegan sandwich and iced-tea before going to pick his case and leave the house. 

Valar but this day sucks; it’s chilli, with heavy rain clouds and wind, it’s a good thing he chose to braid his hair today.Even the stupid tube is full so he has to stand all the way to his stop. He shouldn’t remain standing for long because of his prothesis and yet that’s what he does because nobody seems inclined to leave him their seat. 

He hates people... and himself and he has to fight the urge to run back home and hide under the duvet. 

At least he is lucky enough to arrive to his destination before it started to rain. 

The building is bustling with movement when he arrives; some people were running around carrying piles of files, others were carrying carbon trays with coffee and others were helping arrange heavy carpets in the new cabinets. 

“Oi, Glorfindel!” a musical voice calls from the lifts. 

The blond is ready to bolt, or better yet quietly murder the owner of that voice. But he only has time to close his eyes and ask the Valar for patience. He dreads that voice, he’s always dreaded that voice. 

Since they founded this company and Glorfindel became the right hand of Elrond upon his arrival just becquse he was one of Elrond’s oldest and most trusted friends. 

Not many were happy with that news; Glorfindel was but a shell of a man and there were doubts about his skills and capacity to function and do his job. In the end proved his worth he did, gaining more of the associates’ trust and Lindir got jealous. 

“Morning,” he greets politely. 

The shorter man smiles predatorily. “You won’t believe who is here,” he asks trying to sound casual but missing by a mile. 

This can’t mean anything good, if he’s waited for him just to see his reaction. 

Glorfindel shrugs, following the accountant’s game. “No, Lindir. Please tell me, who is here?” he says, not really interested. 

“The son of Arathorn, remember him?” he stares at him innocently. 

Glorfindel’s stomach plummets to his feet. Arathorn was the man he’d been hired to protect. The man he’d failed to protect and that had costed Gondor’s President his life therefore leaving his wife a widow and his child fatherless. 

It had costed Glorfindel his remaining sanity. 

Shame invades Glorfindel, like every time he is reminded of this failure, and he has to do a herculean effort not to bow his head in front of Lindir. He is so not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how affected he really is. 

So he hardens his expression and pushes past Lindir. “Get back to work Lindir,” he sneers at the man. “Stop noising into other people’s business,” he chides before stepping inside the newly arrived lift. 

Unfortunately he still gets a glimpse of Lindir’s satisfied smile before the doors close behind him. 

He slumps against the wall suddenly feeling more exhausted than what he was already feeling. This day was already a bad one, he didn’t need this particular memory reawakened. 

His hand twitches in that familiar movement it used to make when he still had a scar to help him focus. 

All too soon the lift dings, signaling his arrival to the 30th floor. Great, in Elrond’s office he could relax for some time before the meeting later with Bard Bowman-the owner of the future merging company-. 

He loosens the knot of his tie as he pushes the door to the office open and all but throws his briefcase to the side. “Valar, Elrond. How many times have we talked about firing Lindir?” he grumbles, closing the door behind him. "He’s a pain in the arse and doesn’t even do his job," he continues his complaint without checking to see if his friend was behind his desk. 

He plops onto the couch and sighs in relief at finally being able to rest his leg; he swears it is magical after all the times he’s fallen asleep on it and has woken up without cramps nor further sprains.   
He’s tried to steal the piece for his own so many times but Elrond never acquiesces. So he has to make do with the hours he can borrow it for. 

He is so relaxed that he nearly topples over when someone that isn’t Elrond speaks. "Some things never change, I see," the voice chuckles. 

Glorfindel’s eyes fly open, immediately coming to rest on a standing figure he hadn’t noticed upon entering. 

Hadn’t Lindir said that Arathorn’s son was here? The man had been a close friend of Elrond’s, it stands to reason that he is well acquainted with the son. 

He has dark hair pulled back in a neat braid, stormy grey eyes and he is wearing a form-fitting black suit with no tie, paired with- surprisingly- white vans. All in all a bizarre atire in Glorfindel’s opinion (which clearly the man didn’t ask for). 

Still, he doesn’t look too different for Glorfindel not to recognize him, even though the last time he saw the man he was not yet 15 years old. 

"Aragorn," he says in an embarrassingly small voice. 

"I wasn’t sure if you would remember me," the younger man admits with a wan smile. "Glad to see I was wrong," he shrugs. 

Glorfindel’s brain shuts off; he can’t do anything but stare at Aragorn like an imbecile for what feels like eons. 

The atmosphere in the room decreases rapidly. Tension threatens to swallow them whole and he can see Aragorn become increasingly more uncomfortable until he finally clears his throat to break the silence. 

"If you were looking for Elrond, he had to step out for a moment," he informs Glorfindel, sounding awkward. "Exactly to go talk to Lindir about his work situation. Apparently he remembered your... discussions on the subject and finally decided to take action."

Glorfindel has to mentally slap himself to come out of his daze. "Of all the days he could have done it he had to choose today,” he drags his hands over his face and talks through his fingers. "When we are about to merge," he groans. 

"Not to worry, he’s found a replacement," the other man replies. 

The blond drops his hands and stares at him inquisitively. "And who, pray tell, would be available with so short notice?"

Aragorn smiles impishly. "Me."

***  
Glorfindel doesn’t give credit to what he’s hearing. 

Apparently Elrond’s sons fostered Aragorn since he was 13 and sort of dragged him into the family’s business when the younger left it clear that he had no wish to follow on his father’s footsteps and go into politics. 

So here he is, real and not just a figment of Glorfindel’s feeble imagination, ready to take on Lindir’s position. 

As thankful as he is that the little snake is finally... being let go of, he isn’t sure the remedy is actually better than the sickness. 

"Oh, Glorfindel you are here, good," he nods in greeting. "You remember Aragorn, I presume," he asks, too casually to be an innocent question. 

The blond nods. "He was telling me he would be joining us in the company," he says, controlling his breathing to avoid losing it right here. 

Elrond nods, patting the younger man on the shoulder. "Indeed. You can be at peace now, my friend. Aragorn is a hard worker," he praises his foster son. 

The younger man blushes and lowers his head. "I’ll certainly try to," he says, smiling shyly. 

"And less off a gossip," the blond adds under his breath. 

The others don’t seem to have heard him because neither comments on it. Elrond is rummaging through one of his drawers and Aragorn is frowning at his mobile. 

"Ada," he says, seemingly not having noticed his slip. "Apparently there’s been a problem with the apartment I was going to rent so I can’t move in," he says, chewing his lip worriedly. 

The raven-haired man lifts his head from the papers he just found and stares at Glorfindel instead. "You have a spare bedroom, don’t you?" he asks, knowing full well that the answer will be in the affirmative. 

The blond has to surpress the growl and manage to make it a grunt. "You know I do," he snips. 

Elrond smiles broadly. "Perfect, it is settled then. You can stay with Glorfindel while your living arrangements are sorted,” he commands, now staring at a flabbergasted Aragorn. 

"But, maybe he doesn’t want-" the boy starts to protest. 

Their boss interrupts with a dismissive gesture of the hands. "Nonsense, this will be beneficial for the both of you," he says. "You," he points at his foster son, "need somewhere temporary to stay at. And you," he turns to his advisor, "need the company," there is softness in hjs eyes when he says it. 

What are you playing at, Elrond? thinks the blond, nodding reluctantly. "Fine."

"Alright then," Aragorn says, just as reluctant.

This maybe prove to be either the best or worst thing to happen to Glorfindel Gondolin in this decade. 

** 


End file.
